astronomy in reverse
by Mia-Zeklos
Summary: For all the talk about letting River forge her own path, the Doctor isn't particularly good at following through. Really, all he wants is to rewrite the course of their lives in the one instance when it matters. (Or, the story of River Song navigating her way through the whims of time itself in the only way she knows how - by turning all the odds in her favour whatever it takes.)


**Notes: Okay, this project is rather... ambitious. The chapter count is a tentative three, but it won't be very long - the writing is nearing its end in the drafts, so I have a semi-clear idea of what I'm doing, at least.**

 **This fic is largely inspired by two memorable parts of two Doctor Who tie-in books, which I'm going to quote below as this isn't likely to make much sense out of context.**

 **The first one is the TARDIS's point of view on River:**  
 _ **'I could smell what she was – she came from me. (...) I liked her, mothered her. One day I would like to teach her to wheezegroan without me.'**_

 **The second is from Ten's reflection on River's future/past:**  
 _ **'...the memory of her death was hurting more than it had in the moment. How much more would it hurt, as he made his way into a future that was already her past? No more, he thought. He should avoid her from now on. The future wasn't written yet, not for him. (...) How much more painful would it get? Time can be rewritten, he reminded himself. Perhaps her future could be avoided, her death averted, if he just stayed away. (...) He had to avoid her, it was as simple as that; resist every invitation, ignore every summons, turn and walk away every time he saw her across a room; rewrite her future, without him in it, for her sake.'**_

 **So what caught my eye, essentially, were two things - the TARDIS wanted to teach River how to TARDIS on her own one day and the Doctor had a (clearly not too functional) idea of rewriting time to save her even though he knew that it would cause a paradox. This fic is born from the idea of all of that at least _beginning_ to happen and the consequences it would have. Given canon, it can't really have a happy ending, which I want to be clear about from now on. This isn't a fix-it fic. Also, since I can't have the tags here that I do on AO3, this deals with quite a lot of references to grief, bad coping mechanisms, childhood trauma and, inevitably, brainwashing.**

 **Title taken from Sleeping At Last's _Venus_ ; although this song feels a bit too optimistic for the content of this story, it definitely is a good representation of the way the Doctor feels about River, so it fits quite well, I think.**

 **Hope you guys enjoy it and feedback is always welcome!**

* * *

Looking back at it, the moment the Doctor had realised that his future version wouldn't do anything about his River Song situation – not in the sense of starting to avoid her, anyway – had been the moment he decided to take a different approach.

That wasn't to say that he'd thought of it that way when it had first happened. It had all been a matter of hearing the right thing at the right moment, really. He'd met her again in what seemed to be the last time before she departed for the Library and she'd made a distracted reference towards some place he'd taken her 'back when we first met – well, when _I_ first met _you_ '. He wasn't entirely clear on what would happen that would actually cause them to go linear somewhere in the supposedly distant future, but it was just enough for him to know that he would never learn.

It made sense. She was a lot to turn away from and under any other circumstances, he would have never wanted to do anything of the sort. River was fascinating and unpredictable and mad with the want for adventure that she never appeared to be able to quench and there was nothing that the Doctor loved indulging more. It was addictive, having someone that could match him step for step. Addictive and heartbreaking and it couldn't go on without ending in tragedy one day, so he'd settled for something else.

If he couldn't bring himself to stay away, then perhaps he could be there _more_. He'd stumbled on a younger version of her once or twice already; if he caught her at the very start, maybe they would never have to get where they had started ended. It would be enough to cause a paradox if he still managed to stay alive by the end of it, but they were time travellers; if there was someone who could balance themselves in the eye of the storm, it had to be them. It wouldn't be too difficult to arrange it. Not when the TARDIS had always known where to take him and what to do.

He turned out to be right. Sooner rather than later, the Doctor had found himself on a planet he'd been meaning to visit for a while and just as he had been getting ready to leave, someone had barged in right through the front doors – a technically impossible feat. As it so happened, he knew at least one person who tended to always surprise him with technically impossible feats.

"You were wrong about the Taujavians, by the way," the already familiar drawl floated over to him. The Doctor held his breath, but didn't move from his place behind the console, not even when he heard the dull thuds of her combat boots approaching. She'd been working on a job this time too, then. She never wore anything remotely sensible unless she knew that she would absolutely have to; he'd gathered that much so far. "They don't have a colony here, they've never had one to begin with and I should have _apparently_ tried Cordia IX instead, because— Hello."

"—because Taujavians live on gas giants," the Doctor finished for her. He would have teased her about missing this particular fact just to get back at her for all the times she'd teased _him_ , but it wouldn't have been entirely fair. Even archaeologists with the Universe as the only limit couldn't know everything, he supposed. Plus, according to her, he would direct her to this planet at some point in the future. "Hello."

Instead of replying, River had frozen halfway across the console room, her bright eyes, all of a sudden comically large, fixed on him as if she'd seen a ghost.

Honestly, he'd thought that his presence would have been a nicer surprise than that. She was usually happy to see him and even when she was worried or agitated over something, she'd never looked outright scared. _She_ had been the one to come in, too, which could only mean—

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said, getting to his feet and raising his arms in surrender, as if to show her that he was unarmed. It was a ridiculous notion, but he could never be sure what the future held for them. "I'm not sure if we've met already. I'm the Doctor."

"I know that."

She still hadn't moved.

"Okay," he said carefully, coming closer with a pace steady and slow enough to give her the chance to bolt back outside like she so clearly wanted to. She didn't. "That's good." The Doctor faltered. "Is that good?"

"I'm not supposed to be here." Now that he was only a few steps' worth away from her, the Doctor could see that she was clutching her diary to her chest. It was brand new – so new that he could still smell the paint he'd doubtlessly decorated it with on his own. It forced an odd little twist out of his hearts; as if they were racing with relief and heartbreak all at once. "There's been a mistake," River continued, finally taking a step back and away from him. "I thought— I shouldn't have even spoken to you."

 _Change, don't evade_. Last week, the Doctor might have left her to her own devices. It was clearly early days for her, she knew some future version of him and although he was recognisable, he wasn't _her_ Doctor and just a few days ago, that would have suited him just fine. It wasn't his business to meddle with the affairs of his future self with this confused, easily startled _girl_ whose bravado had melted right off the moment she'd looked at him.

It was a startling thought. What would he do to her? What damage had he already inflicted for her to look at him like this and how had he had the time and ability to fix it to a degree that would make her love him enough to give her life for him?

"Wait," he said instead of voicing his questions. _Early days_. Better take it easy. "I can help."

"I'm sure you could." Some of the tension had eased off. Nowhere near enough for what he wanted to achieve. "But you really shouldn't. _You_ said so."

Well, now he was just playing dirty, wasn't he?

"There's no need to be so careful," the Doctor reassured her. She hadn't gone any further away; the only thing until now that hadn't been some sort of red flag. "Timelines can be preserved without so much constant attention. Trust me, I've been doing this my entire life."

River allowed herself the slightest of smiles. "Should I put this meeting in the book, then?"

"The book?" It was almost surreal, really, to have her be the one who didn't know what to do. Surreal and a welcome change from the constant wondering that he was used to when it came to her.

"The diary," she clarified, gesturing around with the object in question. "He – _you_ – said I should put details about every time we meet in here and I told you how I don't have much to put anywhere since I'm currently in—"

"Don't say it!" The Doctor cut her off. "Whatever it is, I can't know yet. But yes, you should probably put it in the book. It's always best to be informed."

"Oh, right." River had found it in herself to actually smile at him now, wide and a little mischievous, exactly how he was growing used to seeing her. He could see the echo of _his_ River in her, just barely; just enough to assure him that he was actually talking to the same person. Her appearance and that grin were the only tether he could see for now. "It's— _spoilers_ , was it?"

"That's the one." She was a quick study. Much to his misfortune, the Doctor realised that he rather liked her like this as well. "You ever travelled in time on your own until now?"

"Occasionally." The distraction had been sufficient at making her talk, although her body language still gave out the same anxiety as before. Her thoughts were racing a mile a second when he brushed past them, only to retreat hastily when she shifted in her place as if she'd felt him and was trying to shake him off. "But I usually get a lift. One of my— no, I can't talk about that either, I think. One of your friends told me that I'll have a way to do it by myself all the time, but I haven't got there yet."

The realisation that he wouldn't be all on his own in the future was oddly comforting, but not enough for the Doctor to notice the obvious: whatever the situation with River was, he'd involved his companions in it. It was all wrong, every hint he received from her general direction; wrong enough for him to wonder what he had been thinking. What he _will_ have been thinking, as a matter of fact, because apparently today wouldn't have been a memorable lesson in keeping private matters private and helping out people when they'd clearly been influenced by him in one way or another—

—unless he'd already strayed from the timeline she knew.

 _So it was going to work, then?_ The TARDIS hadn't protested against their collective presence in any way, River hadn't evaporated in front of him, all their memories seemed to be intact – the threads of time must have held for now. The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, now you won't need to," he assured her, prying her fingers away from the diary so he could loop their arms together enough to pull her bodily towards the console. He would still have to be careful, that much was clear, but not quite as careful as he'd thought would be necessary. "I can take you to Cordia IX, if you want. You'll just have to give me the coordinates."

"Oh, no need." River was all eclectic energy again and the Doctor stepped away, somewhat curious to see how she would proceed. "She already knows them; we just need to point her in the right direction."

"Are you," the Doctor's voice faltered as he watched her stride around the console, pulling and pushing levers and buttons he'd mostly decided to leave alone until now. "are you talking about the _TARDIS_?"

"Yes, she speaks to me sometimes. All the time, really, whenever I'm inside. It's a bit unnerving, especially when— but never mind." She lingered over the keyboard. "Any idea when the Taujavian civilisation was at its peak?"

"Centuries 82nd through 98th." The response sounded faint even to his own ears. River gave him a quick nod and kept going about her business, leaving him to watch in bewilderment as the seemingly youngest pilot a TARDIS had ever had manoeuvred it in each and every direction she wanted with little more than a flick of her wrist.

The day the Doctor finds her writing in her diary for the first time is not a good one for a plethora of reasons, but River doesn't catch on at first. It's understandable; he's doing his best to hide it from her. This early, the wisest decision he can make is to be gentle with her.

It doesn't always work, mainly because he doesn't always follow through, but it's the thought that counts in the long run. Or so he hopes.

"Is it a good read?" he ventures eventually to make her look up. She doesn't. Just seeing her put down whatever she's just been through, innocent as it is, makes him stand on edge because of all the pain it's going to bring in the future, but that's yet another thing he can't share with _this_ River yet. For the first time, he's the one with the secrets.

"Oh, yes." The Doctor peeks over her shoulder and she doesn't pull it away like she'd done every single time before that. It makes sense – she's only on page one, after all. "Cordia IX. It made for an excellent midterm paper, I'll give you that, but there were those—"

" _River_!" Honestly, they'd _talked_ about this. And when had she had the time to wander around with a future version of him, anyway? "You can't tell me about this yet!"

She does look up this time, mildly astonished. "I thought things that we've both experienced were fair game."

"You need to check if we're on the same page first." It's a complicated matter, but she had always caught on quickly until now. He's certain that the future won't be any different – he's seen it firsthand already. " _This_ , for example, I didn't know about and if you'd told me any more of it, who knows what trouble we could get into!"

"There's no way you haven't been there by now." River flips back to the very first page and the beginning of the story she'd been writing and the picture she'd sketched to the side. It's done in pen and slightly rough around the edges, but it's still recognisable enough to make his blood freeze. "You can't _not_ remember that!"

"But I don't." It's his face – well, one of them – and it must be part of his past, but there's no recollection of this encounter at all. He remembers all of their meetings in the exact order that they'd happened in – he can't _not_ , she'd been right about that – and the fact that this one keeps evading him even now that he's actively trying to think about it is nearly terrifying. "River, what did you _do_?"

"Me?" It's not the fake outrage when she's very definitely done something, the Doctor can see; no, it's genuine confusion this time around. "I didn't do anything! The TARDIS was there, I came in and you invited me to stay and travel with you if I wanted. I told you that I needed help with my research and—" She falters for a moment as realisation finally starts to dawn. "You really don't remember any of this, do you?"

The Doctor shakes his head in response, trying to think of any method with which his memory might have been erased. River has done it in the past, he's pretty sure although there's no way for him to prove it. Not this one, of course, it's _his_ River he suspects of it, and that's what confuses him all the more. _This_ River still isn't quite as well-versed in making her way through the Universe all on her own and while the Doctor is all on favour of helping her get there however he can, it's still— concerning for her to do things like this when it's still so early on in her timeline. He'd just been getting used to being the one with all the answers and now his past self is, what? Interfering without his knowledge?

It's a ridiculous thought, but not quite as ridiculous as it would be for anyone else in his position. He knows better than anyone else that time is a vulnerable thing to thread on and that's exactly why it seems rather strange that he'd go about mucking his own timeline _without even remembering it_. It's not a straight line, he's always known that, but there are _rules_ and if River had just happened to end up at the wrong place at the wrong time and somehow managed to convince him to change something seemingly inconsequential – not on purpose, she wouldn't, but that doesn't make much of a difference right now – then it could change everything in an instant. _She_ could change everything in an instant with his help, and the Doctor can't ever remember refusing when she's asked. He's certain of it even now as the idea that there are moments in time missing from him starts taking root in his mind. And if it ever gets to that—

It's a terrible thought, really; there's no denying it. River's still new to this, but he should know better than to meddle. He should have felt the shift in the timeline when it had happened – or had he already grown used to the oddities that surrounded his mysterious companion from the future by then? The Doctor can recall the moment when he'd resigned himself to the fact that he had no desire to keep her away any longer, or so he thinks, but suddenly, he doesn't feel so sure.

He'd told Amy all about the mechanics of the flow of time and tries to remember his own lesson now; about all the minute ways in which time changes as they go through it. It's a fluid, complicated thing, and difficult to manoeuvre and keep track of. It's the main reason why so many people think their memories tend to be unreliable, he thinks; it's just what time is _like_.

But not for him; not for them. It's not supposed to be like this. He'd just been starting to think that they could work things out like this – knowing each other in linear time isn't half bad, really, and he had been hoping—

"Is everything all right?"

It's not easy to force himself out of his reflection on the situation and focus on the concern in River's eyes, but the Doctor manages it just in time before the expression melts into worry and he musters the best smile he can under the circumstances.

"Yes!" River scoots over once he decides to sit next to her and wrap an arm around her shoulders to bring her near. "Yes, of course it is. Nothing to worry about, I'm sure."

"But if you can't remember—"

"Time is a relative measure, dear," the Doctor tries to reassure her. The grip on her upper arm might be a bit too tight now, but that's all right, too; she's just inhuman enough to be able to handle it. "We never meet in the right order."

The look River gives him morphs into something downright sceptical. "It's definitely in your past, though." She turns pensive, then, getting up from her seat and redirecting her attention to the TARDIS's controls where she starts to fiddle with something the Doctor himself hasn't dared to touch yet. "Maybe it's something I did, after all."

"It could be," the Doctor concedes, both because he'd rather put this behind them and because it's true. Even this early on, it can be difficult to predict what River could be getting up to. It's just that later on at least _she_ knows that she's got things under control. Right now, it's all a bit of a mess, but nothing that a little distraction can't fix. "I thought we were going out."

"Oh, _are_ we?" That's all it takes for River to turn back to him. She's still fascinated by the concept of time travel as long as they stay away from the fuzzy memories of her upbringing and although she's moved past the stage of assassination of prominent historical figures, the desire to cause mayhem in every possible way remains. It'll never really leave her, the Doctor knows, and the thought is just a tad more exciting than it has any right to be. "Is there a dress code?"

"No, but when has that ever stopped you?" Clothes seem to be a hit with her, too; another non-surprise. She'd always had an excellent taste for them, especially when it came to her own appearance. "I'm thinking Earth, early 24th century. They don't pay attention to anyone sticking out, so you can pick what you like."

One way or another, she'll always stick out and at this point, he's quite sure that she's aware of it. River's smile widens even further and she disappears down the already familiar corridor towards what's quickly turning into her favourite part of the TARDIS. It's a novel enough idea, apparently, that she's completely forgotten about the diary.

It's such an un-River thing to do, but it's so typical of Melody that his hearts ache anew because of it. She's bright and courageous and amazing and as new to this world as it gets by his people's standards and she's not like him, not completely, but she's—

She's exactly what he would have expected from someone raised to lure him in and then kill him while he's too busy being in awe to notice what she's doing. It's quite a concept to try and absorb, but she's _wonderful_ like this and he can't bring himself to make things more difficult for her than they need to be after everything she'd already been through. It's strange – he had already saved her future version so many times in the past, but it's now that he actually feels like she's his to protect and defend, inexperienced in his world as she is.

That's the only reason why for just a moment, the Doctor picks up her diary and takes a quick look over the first page again. The story isn't long and it's clear that she hadn't met an imposter of some kind. The words they'd exchanged feel vaguely familiar, even, like something from a different world or a dream he'd had of a possible future. A dream from years and years ago, shortly after he'd met her for the first time; a dream that had somehow manifested itself in his past reality.

It had to have been something to do with her. River had always had her ways of getting what she wants from him and while this disregard for the fragility of time is new, it's not exactly unexpected.

It's a one-time accident, there's no way it isn't, and this time, the Doctor lets it slip as he quietly leaves the diary back where she'd put it. If it feels like a little loss that the first thing after the introduction she'd written for herself is a journey he doesn't remember, then it's his to bottle up and hide away. It's never been River's responsibility to handle it, as much as he had always convinced himself of the contrary.

The next few times the Doctor met River, she was the version of her he'd been used to at the beginning – maybe not quite, but close enough. She'd been competent and understanding and so familiar with him that it never failed to be surprising in all the best and worst ways at once.

Seeing her always brought the strangest sensations to the front of his mind. It was ridiculous to be relieved each time he stumbled upon her and saw that she was perfectly fine. Of _course_ she was – he had been there in the moment of her death, hadn't he? It only made sense in every other instant, she would be the same he'd known her to be so far, jumping from one adventure to another and as lively as she seemed to be by default, but it still brought an odd mix of relief and pain whenever it happened; whenever she smiled at him with a grin full of love and half-spoken truths. Without meaning to or suspecting that it would happen, the Doctor had grown used to their irregular, undependable relationship and it never failed to throw him off when she evaded him.

It did happen, although not often – sometimes the TARDIS would land somewhere and the Doctor would just _feel_ her there. He didn't doubt that it was the same for her; each and every time, he was sure that she'd spotted him, even if she'd done nothing to show it, preferring to stick to the sidelines instead and avoiding his eyes whenever they strayed in her direction, approximately three times per minute. It made him far more curious than was strictly acceptable and it tended to keep him up at night; the wonder at his future and her past and what he could have done to drive her away even in a different time and place. He'd come to rely on her, the Doctor realised with a start, had come to expect that she would be there when he wanted her to be. It was a dangerous notion and he wasn't sure when exactly it had started blossoming somewhere deep in his mind, but it was too late to put a stop to it.

It made it a little more understandable if no less unacceptable, now; the reason why he would never actually give up on her and push her away. By the time he'd realised that it was the only course of action that could save her, it had already been too late to put an end to it. Time travel tended to be like that, although usually with less death and heartbreak involved. His first mistake had been talking to her at all after the Library, but there had been something in her eyes back when he hadn't recognised her that he never wanted to see again. _Heartbreak_. If he could – which didn't seem very likely – he was going to try and spare her from it as much as was possible, which meant that he could, at least, enjoy the time they spent together.

His not-quite-River was a different ordeal entirely.

It wasn't fair to think of her like this, the Doctor knew, but it was also the only thing he could use to distinguish them. While River as he knew her was a force to be reckoned with, her younger, less polished version that visited sometimes felt much more unhinged; terrified and terrifying as a force of nature once he tried to press for more information than she thought he was allowed. She rarely even reacted to the name River with anything but an irritated twitch, which could only bring him to the conclusion that she had either stolen it or – more likely – had had the name given to her and had assumed the identity but hadn't managed to fully fit into it yet. It was an unsettling thought; to imagine someone pressing her into doing anything, considering what the woman he thought he was coming to know was like, but it was one of the only possible options. He tried not to treat her too much like a particularly trigger-happy explosive, but that was precisely what she felt like and, unlike her older version, she soon grew tired of his fidgeting around her and requested to be sent home. The Doctor had always obliged and eventually, their times together had started growing longer, their meetings more frequent.

"You know," she was saying now, stretched out under the sun of Toutatis Phororia, hands crossed under her cloud of golden hair like a pillow as she soaked in the warmth, "the strangest thing happened yesterday. Although I suppose," she cracked an eye open to look at him and send a smile his way, "it was only yesterday for me. I wanted to remind you of the situation with the Taujavians and you couldn't remember any of it. You even told me I wasn't supposed to tell you about it; thought it was something in the future."

The Doctor frowned. "Well, _now_ it's in the future." She hadn't quite got the hang of the rules that he would apparently inflict on her at some point, it seemed. "Nothing? Not even a hint?"

"Nothing," River confirmed. She was trying to keep up the pretence of relaxation, but the Doctor could almost feel the nervous energy coursing through her entire body. She was listening intently, paying attention even as she did her best to pretend otherwise. "I thought it was a bit concerning, but you wouldn't listen. I'm very memorable, usually."

"You _are_." She had her diary – two versions of it, one brand new and one almost full – but he was keeping track too, just as careful and diligent as her own.

"Thank you, honey."

It wasn't what he'd meant, but the Doctor could let it slide this time. "And there was no—accident that could have made me forget?"

"None that I know of, but that doesn't count for much." River sat up, leaning back on her hands so that they were almost at eye level. "I know everything about you – at least the theory, still getting through the psychology – but it makes sense, because it's what..." Her voice faltered for a moment. "What matters is, you know everything about me. I don't know how or why, but I'm just going with it for now. Not a big fan of going with the flow, typically, but look at the kind of places it gets me."

Toutatis Phororia was a small, mostly miserable jungle planet and they'd found what had to be the one good spot on it. River was fully aware of that and still enjoying it inordinately much. Not for the first time, the Doctor wondered what kind of place she'd spent her childhood in. She was easy to impress and nearly impossible to actually please, what with the rush of ideas and whims and thoughts that went through her head almost faster than he could actually sense; a nigh-impossible being tightly packed into a human body with far too much energy to be able to spend it wisely.

In too many ways for comfort, she was exactly like him.

"I'm sure it's not going to be an ongoing problem," she drawled now, eyes still fixed on the forests stretching out at the feet of the hill they'd landed on. "You've lived a long life; it's only natural for some things to slip through the gaps."

 _It really, really isn't_ , the Doctor was ready to say, but stopped himself just in time. His River wouldn't have made such an assumption because she would have already known it to be wrong. This River deserved to have some stability, at least, and if he could offer her that, then perhaps he could offer her a lot more. Nothing had happened so far to stop him from his decision to push her on a better path, so he'd assumed all too soon that it was acceptable to continue as long as he remained cautious. He couldn't turn back time, but he could turn it into something else. She was already an anomaly in the Universe; perhaps it wouldn't be quite so bad if he managed to preserve her in whatever way he could find.

"It happens to the best of us," he said at least, the effort to keep his voice light putting a strain into it that he wouldn't admit in front of the version of her that knew him a little too well already. "You still put it in the diary, though."

"I put everything in the diary. It's in the rules, remember?"

She'd caught his eye again. "And you always follow my rules?"

"That one, yes."

"What would happen if you didn't?"

River's brow furrowed into a thoughtful grimace. "Plenty of things could happen. None of which you can know about for now, I'm afraid."

"And if I happen to find out?"

"I'd imagine we'd both be in trouble."

Something in her expression told him that being in trouble was both a daily activity and something she didn't mind at all as long as it wouldn't affect her too badly. She still wasn't taking this – him – seriously, even if she'd apparently listened to his future version and while it was a frustrating concept to even consider, it was still enough progress for him to be happy about it.

Something _else_ in her expression – too close, too open for it to be anything but trust, as genuine as it ever got with her – tipped him off towards exactly the kind of train of thought he had no intention of following. He'd been wondering about the nature of their relationship and the way she acted around him and suddenly, it was right in front of his eyes, clear as day. _She would let me kiss her if I wanted to_. The thought was unwelcome and almost intrusive, but not necessarily incorrect, especially when paired with the awareness that followed – he _did_ want to _._ He hadn't brought her all the way out here for this and he'd never intended to take advantage of the fact that she turned to him for help so often, but the impulse was there all the same. The Doctor cleared his throat.

"What kind of trouble, exactly?"

River settled into a more comfortable position, just a few inches out of his reach. His smile had gained that already familiar and still infuriating enigmatic edge. "Perhaps I'll tell you when you're older."

"Excuse me," the underlying indignation in his tone couldn't be helped this time around, "I'm nine hundred years old."

She actually _laughed_ this time. "My Doctor is way past that, I can tell you that much."

 _My Doctor_. It was _my Doctor_ , still, _the real you, the future you, I mean_ — and he was back in the Library again and the world was on fire.

It wouldn't be for much longer. He could fix that much, at least.

The Doctor's already managed to immerse himself in his book once again by the time there's a knock on the door.

It had been a rather memorable evening. It feels a little immodest to admit it, given that he'd been the one to organise it, but River had enjoyed it too; enough that she'd kissed his cheek, seemingly with a special effort to make it as unchaste as possible, and had then proceeded to follow his example, get in _his_ bed, and fall asleep.

She needs more sleep than he does, the Doctor's already noticed. They're not quite the same species, after all, there's a lot in her that's still turned out human and her supposed-to-be-human body is bursting with the life and soul of a Time Lord to the point where while she doesn't get exhausted easily, she needs her rest after about a week with almost none of it.

Why she'd chosen his room for it is unknown, but the Doctor's not complaining; not when the locks she's placed on her mind creak open for just a few hours when she's asleep. It's not that he means to look, but that he can't help but do it. They're floating all alone in the whole wide Universe and sometimes, it's a relief to be able to reach out. The book in his hands is partly an enhancement of it, combined with the need to show her, at least subconsciously, what he now never could. _History of Gallifrey, volume 17_. He's got the visuals to go with it in his mind, it's amusing to see his home world from a human author's point of view and, well, if he's hoping that some of it might come her way without also bringing the burden of the pain that usually follows, then that's something they can keep between themselves. He might not be human, but some of their unrelenting optimism gets to him more often than not.

Which swiftly brings him back to the knock on the door, the hesitation that follows and the eventual push at the doorknob when whoever the intruder is realises that the room is silent.

"Doctor, I meant to ask— _Oh_."

Amy's eyes are wide as saucers as she takes the sight in front of her in and then narrow into slits when realisation starts to settle in. The Doctor scrambles into a sitting position as quickly as he can to show her that he's as clothed as it gets; something he can't say about River and her flimsy nightgown. There's nothing to be embarrassed by and even if there _was_ , he owes Amy no explanations, really, which should make it a little less embarrassing – the concept of it, that is. They haven't actually done anything. Yet. And even if they had—

"Come in, come in," the Doctor says in a desperate attempt to push that idea back where it belongs – somewhere in the depths of his mind for no one to see – but the panicky edge to his voice is still somewhat present.

"Better be quiet, though." The door falls shut behind Amy's back and she steps closer as the Doctor shakes his head. It's not just disrupting River that bothers her, he knows; it's River's presence to begin with. And it doesn't _bother_ her, exactly, but she's been missing her – both as her daughter and best friend – and those things get so jumbled up sometimes that she can't even tell which one is it. He doesn't need to take a look into her mind to know; she'd told him all of that herself. There's some guilt mixed up in it all as well and now it's painted all over her features as she lingers helplessly in the middle of the room, unsure what she's supposed to do with herself. It's an unfamiliar look on her.

"Nah, there's no waking her up now." The Doctor hadn't witnessed her falling asleep too many times yet, but just enough to be sure that even a warzone wouldn't be able to do the job. He would know – he'd tried. "Is something wrong?"

"Not really." Amy takes her seat on the edge of the bed as he'd prompted her to, but she's still careful; her voice low enough to be barely audible. "I actually wanted to ask about _her_."

And then there are the names. Rory uses them interchangeably depending on whether he's talking about the Doctor's _friend_ (the emphasis on the word is always a little aggressive, but it's only been happening since Berlin, oddly enough) or his own friend _or_ his daughter, but Amy avoids making a choice altogether, most of the time. The Doctor can't say he doesn't understand – not when he only talks about River Song in third person and struggles with _Melody_ in too many ways to count.

"What about her?"

"She visits all the time. No, don't lie to me," Amy cuts him off before he's got the chance to protest. "I've seen it on the screen in the console room while you're setting coordinates. You've been visiting; it actually _says_ so, and you never let us _see_. Nothing's just going to magically get better if you keep hiding her away."

"I'm not _hiding her away_." It's an absurd idea, but the denial does make him sound somewhat defensive, the Doctor notices. "I'm trying to figure this out. She's doing wonderful. Let's not rush her."

By his side, River sighs in her sleep, but doesn't stir. He can practically _feel_ her being annoyed at his protectiveness even while too exhausted to function. She's not alone in that sentiment, it seems.

"No, but she's known us her entire life. She's known who we are her entire life. If we could have a moment—"

"Pond, listen." She doesn't push him away when he gathers her in his arms for a hug, which is as good a response as he's going to get, the Doctor suspects. He pulls away a moment later, just enough to be able to look her in the eye. "There's so much more that I don't understand yet. About her, about what was done to her all those years and how to undo the damage – _if_ we can undo the damage. She's got her own time and her own life, but to just leave her to do as she likes when she's here with us when she isn't too familiar with how it all works yet— it's not safe. For her more than anyone, but for you too. You're her _parents_. Paradoxes are a dangerous thing."

"How could anything go wrong? I've literally already given birth to her." It takes a while for the words to sink in and then they're right back in eye saucer territory. Amy reaches out and carefully brushes a stray curl away from River's forehead. The gesture's gentler than it should have any right to be, given how little time they've spent together. And of course she misses her, the Doctor thinks, who wouldn't, but it's still so— it's _undignified_ is what it is, what the Silence and Kovarian have done to them all and trying to piece your own family back together from the shambles of something that has barely had the chance to exist is a painful thing, but it's still so very early. With River's admission of their missed meeting, he's somehow become even more careful than before. River would understand – doesn't she always – but inflicting upon her parents that there are complications even now would be just cruel.

"I'll figure this out," the Doctor says in lieu of an answer. It doesn't help much – Amy's still lingering around, clearly too restless to just go back to sleep. It's not a good sign, not when she'd trusted him with similarly unbearable, large tasks before, but it's also _understandable_ that she wouldn't, all things considered.

In the end, though, she budges. "Tell me if there's anything I can do," she says and the Doctor's nodding vigorously, not entirely sure that he'll be able to keep that promise when the time for it comes, " _anything_."

"I will."

She brushes her fingers through River's hair again, tender and feather-light in order not to disturb her, and leaves as quietly as she'd come. It probably wouldn't help to mention that if River had been feeling in danger, she'd have already been wide awake.

But no, she sleeps, unbothered by the turmoil that reigns around her. She seems calm for now, but the Doctor knows better than to think that it'll last for long and he's ready for when it takes a turn for the worse. River's nightmares leave her gasping and terrified and leaving claw-like marks over him when he tries to hold her, and she never remembers them by morning.


End file.
